The Planets Bend Between Us
by RainingMonday
Summary: Kinda based on the upcoming crossover, but with my own spin on it. Addison discovers a new, unorthodox kind of happiness as her efforts in Seattle find her caring for Mark's grandson and living a life she never thought she'd have. Maddison one-shot.


*** The Planets Bend Between Us ***

**So, the layout of this is interesting to say the least. It starts in the middle and flashes back to the beginning as it progresses to the end. So yeah. A little unorthodox, I just hope it's not too confusing. Anyway slight spoilers based on previews for the upcoming crossover. Song is by Snow Patrol.**

*********

You never thought you'd be doing this. You thought you'd given up your opportunity for late night feedings, lost, in the delicate strains of time, the right to have aching arms from rocking a child the entire night, and to be soothed by the smell of baby shampoo in soft downy brown hair.

Then again, you never thought you'd be Mommy to your almost-ex-lover's grandson. (You say almost because of that thing in the on-call room five days ago. And the other things that have been going on for a few months now. Not that you're keeping track).

Hadley squirms, pushing one silky baby foot up against the skin bared by your lacy camisole and the pajama pants of Mark's that barely hug your recently bony hips. You spin quickly, searching for the pastel green receiving blanket, the one with the cute little frog with the watermelon colored tongue, as Hadley's whimpers turn into half-cries.

You'll never admit it, but you made sure to get Hadley this time before Mark. You never seem to hear him, meaning that Mark is always the one up, so tonight you stayed up while he snored into your pomegranate waves, muscled chest rising and falling softly. He looked like a small child, curled up under a fuzzy blue blanket that was originally given to Hadley but that somehow found its way to his (your) bed.

No, this is certainly not how you pictured attaining motherhood, with a five month old fetus inside of you and a four month old baby on top of you, but this is the way your life got stitched back together, by Hadley and Mark and your unborn baby, and you're not complaining.

***

"_Get me Addison Montgomery. Now."_

_Those were the words that, according to Naomi, Mark had barked into the phone but hours earlier, and although you had been wrapped in delusions to get through Christmas alone in your house after the wreck the Forbes Montgomery's had wrought, you shed them and boarded a plane with unnerving indiscretion. _

_You walked into a room consisting of Lexie Grey, tension written all over her face, a blonde girl you immediately identified as Sloane, as her ice flower eyes very nearly matched Mark's and you'd seen pictures of him as a child with blonde hair the color of sunshine. Mark was there too, and the relief in his eyes upon seeing you was gratifying but unable to mask awakening desire._

_You grabbed the ultrasound wand from the resident (she still looked like a preschooler in you opinion) and, after murmuring a few soothing words to Sloan, manipulated the instrument so that a seventeen-week-old fetus was clearly visible. You squinted, willing your eyes to see something else, but it was unmistakable._

"_What's the matter?" Mark demanded, ice shard eyes on your face, as sharp as they were perceptive. "What's wrong with the baby?"_

_You settled yourself in the nearest chair and met both of their eyes, but not Lexie's because really, if she didn't identify this, at least in the most basic sense, maybe she didn't deserve to practice medicine at all._

"_Sloane's carrying twins," you began and then immediately regretted it as Sloane's eyes went wide and Mark looked like he was about to have a heart attack, his eyes horrified above the plum, sleepless circles underneath. "Partial molar twins," you elaborated. "One twin, this twin," you pointed to the healthy baby boy, "is fine, but the other," you indicated the blob in the other amniotic sac, half hidden behind the first baby, "is little more than an abnormal mass."_

"_So," Sloane began, panicked, and for a second you didn't see a vapid, shallow, uncaring teenager, you saw a scared child of your ex-lover's and it was strange to stand beside this girl and think about her almost-half-sibling you carried, however briefly, in New York. "I have cancer?"_

"_No," you corrected, "it isn't cancerous, but it can become dangerous. The mole's growth is spiking out of control and gaining potency quickly, putting both you and the unborn fetus in danger. Usually, however, the mole has overtaken and killed the other baby by now, so you might have a chance of carrying this baby to term. However, I wouldn't advise it."_

_Sloane wiggled her swollen form until she was facing Mark and an unspoken form of communication passed between them. "If she did continue the pregnancy," Mark asked slowly, digging hands in the pockets of distressed, low-riding jeans as he always did when he was nervous, "what are the risks? Would she have to have surgery?"_

"_I could try to take out the mass in-utero, but you would run a risk of losing the other baby and depending on how their positions change as they develop, it might not even be possible. Otherwise we would have to watch the pregnancy carefully and probably deliver prematurely if the mole put the baby at risk."_

"_Sloane," Mark beseeched gently, "I know you care about this baby. But this is really, really dangerous, I didn't even pay attention in my obstetrics rotation and I know that. It would really be safer if …"_

"_I can't," the girl interjected, her voice betraying threatening tears. "I can't. The baby's father … he … he died of alcohol poisoning and this is all I have left of him."_

"_I thought you said your boyfriend didn't want the baby," Mark argued, and you resisted the urge to reach out and smooth the wrinkle between his eyebrows._

"_I did," Sloane confirmed, suddenly bright. "But it wasn't his baby." And her face fell again, you knew you were in for the long haul because she wasn't giving up the baby, Mark wasn't giving up on her, and Lexie, flat brown eyes calculating, wasn't giving up on Mark._

_You were secretly grateful for this train wreck, because it was one you knew how to fix, unlike the disaster-riddled minefield your childhood had become._

***

Hadley's weak cries have faded into whimpers that barely shake his tiny chest, clad in a navy fleece sleeper with a pattern of cheerful Rudolph's, drifting, every second, closer to the shores of slumber you've coaxed him to. You stroke his fawn-colored hair for a few seconds more, trying not to imagine what it will be like to have two infants in the house in a couple of months. It's painfully ironic, so much so that you can't imagine God not existing somewhere, laughing, because these things don't happen by accident. When you were finally ready for children, you were told you were barren, and now when you're least expecting kids they come in pairs – not twins, but close enough.

Now you step on a blue plastic bottle, the clear nipple squished under your toe as you rock the baby you're not sure you're supposed to have. His mouth searches your peaches-and-cream skin helplessly, but you can't provide for him that way.

At first, you were here to help Mark with a newborn, because after all, you were the first one to hold him, feed him, change him, while Mark made arrangements for Sloane. You named him because no one else did and as the days begin to pass with ever-increasing vigor, you begin to suspect that Hadley Carrington Sloan (Bizzy would approve of the name, at least) will run to you when he's old enough to skin his knee, and when his first childhood friend filches the small, battery operated caboose with the smiling face, the toy he likes even at the age of a few weeks old.

The two of you haven't talked about this, but you were an expert at not talking about things in New York so you're hardly surprised. All you know is that you're in Mark's apartment at two in the morning, cradling a child that isn't yours, and all you really want to do is sleep. Hadley's breaths are even now, the soft fabric inflating rhythmically against your chest.

So you tiptoe across sandstone carpet, carrying your two children, glancing out at the velvet night adorned with small diamonds as you make your way to the space that has, in some inexplicable, unofficial way, become Mark-and-Addison's. Mark is on his side, the polka-dotted powder blue blanket tucked under his chin, and the sight tugs your heart in new, unexplored directions.

You settle Hadley in the mint and seafoam plaid snuggle nest that Mark's index and middle fingers are curled around the edge of. The baby squirms, his seashell eyelids flickering as one tiny hand curls into a perfect fist. You feel a rush of maternal pride and love that startles you slightly as you rest your head beside his. Mark makes a noise in his sleep and tangles his feet with yours, and you know it wasn't intentional, but the baby in-between you could have been yours, if only you'd realized some things a little earlier.

Still, as you rest your hand on the baby growing inside of you, you remind yourself that at least you got a second chance at this life that chance warned you were never supposed to have. As you fall asleep, hovering on the edge of dreams, you allow yourself to admit that maybe you wanted this all along.

You open eyes halfway between emerald and cyan, but the lump of covers made by Mark's body is absent. Instead, in its place is a note telling you he had an emergency at the hospital and that he'd be home by lunchtime. You try not to smile at the thoughtfulness, because this is weird. You are not supposed to be living this life with Mark.

Hadley opens his tiny lips in an adorable baby yawn, stretching tiny limbs as far as they will go, and you run a finger down over his downy hair. "Hey, little man," you coo, lifting him and tucking him against your shoulder as your phone rings and you grumble and answer.

"Hello?"

"Addison!" Richard seems relieved you actually picked up the phone.

"Look, Richard, today is my day off; I'm in my pajamas with a newborn baby, so now really isn't a great time to chat."

"I need you to come in today, Addison."

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

"You can bring the baby," you can almost hear him thinking 'Sloan's grandson.' "I just really need you to consult on this patient. Then you can go home – or wherever you're staying."

"Fine," you sigh before hanging up and adjusting Hadley more comfortably against your shoulder before heading to the nursery. It's not completely finished, you and Mark haven't exactly had a lot of time, but the soft limes and emeralds intermixed with pale blue and purple remind you of Neverland, and you hope that Hadley won't have to grow up as fast as you did.

That's partially why you're here. At least that part is fathomable.

***

"_Dr. Montgomery?" Sloane shouted as you attempted to run in four-inch patent leather Kate Spade heels. "Hel-lo?" the teenager added impatiently as you rounded the corner, out of breath, only to find that the only crimson emergency in the room is the colors of nail polish splashed across her tray._

"_What's – there's nothing wrong?" you huffed indignantly, resting your hands on your hips in the pose you usually reserved for scaring misbehaving interns. Sloane, however, seemed unaffected._

"_I can't decide what color to paint my nails," she said, as if the weight of the world rested on such an inconsequential thing, you knew Sloane was a bit crass and more than a little selfish but you really didn't think she was that immature. "I could do Cherry, but I think it's a little much, and I thought about Peach, but that really wouldn't match many of my clothes."_

_You barely restrained yourself from pointing out that the only thing she was likely to be wearing any time in the near future was a hospital gown, and reminded yourself that she was a child, barely eighteen, and fear ate greedily at life until all one desired was a little normalcy._

_So you scanned the array of colors in front of her and told her, "This one would look good with your skin tone," holding up a shimmering cotton candy pink, pale as the new morning sun over the water. "Plus, it's not as harsh as red or hard to match as peach."_

"_Hmm," the girl had said, taking it from you. "I think you're right. Pink would clash with your hair, but it'll look nice on me." Seeing that she was satisfied, you made to leave the room, but she called you back. "I just wanted to know what's going on between you and my dad," she requested innocently, flashing you her unique version of the McSteamy smirk._

"_Nothing," you answered, not because it was necessarily true, his misty, pale blue eyes had met yours across the cafeteria mere hours ago and although you'd looked quickly down at your turkey sub, a pleasurable shiver crawled down your spine. No, it was simply easier, because no explanation of you and Mark would ever manage to be both concise and accurate at the same time._

"_Right," the girl sneered disbelievingly. "I may be a pregnant teenager, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid, you know. I've seen the way you two look at each other, like you would jump each other if I wasn't in the room."_

"_I …" you certainly possessed no answer for that, because although you'd tried to be subtle, the perfect, muscled planes of Mark's chest had been surfacing in your mind a little too often for comfort lately. "Well, we had a … thing back when we lived in New York, and then again when he came to Seattle, but it was only ever just a fling."_

_Sloane rolled her eyes very obviously. "He still looks at you, you know," she informed you. "Not like he looks at his ridiculous girlfriend. And when I asked him if he'd ever been in love, he got all shy and looked at his feet. And his favorite color is red. He loves you."_

"_He doesn't," you countered sharply._

"_Like I said, I'm not stupid," Sloan snorted._

***

"Alright, baby boy, we gotta go into the hospital today," you tell him, feeling slightly ridiculous but also warm as Hadley reaches for one of your ears. You undo his diaper with practiced motions, holding a clean over him so he won't spray you if he decides now is a good time to pee, and soon have a new one fastened snugly around him.

Hadley's hands flutter around the fastenings, clearly trying to remove it.

"No, we can't to that now," you coo, kissing his nose. "We can't go out with you naked. Maybe if you're good I'll give you another bath tonight." Hadley, inexplicably, loves baths more than any baby you've ever met, even having been out of his mother's uterus for months weeks.

You're the one who bought the soft brown one piece that you dress Hadley in, with the caramel and white striped cuffs and the hood with bear ears; you're the one who bought almost all of his clothes. Although Mark did buy the Snow White shirt with the picture of Dopey and the words 'I'm with grumpy.'

You haven't quite learned to disregard the stares that linger on you the minute you set your black, $1000 Manolo Blahnik-covered foot into the hospital. You know the rumors are running wild, about you and Mark and the baby you have in one arm, his little mouth open and spilling drool onto your chest.

You try to ignore it; however, try to ignore the whispers that follow you, passed from nurse to nurse as quickly as an airborne disease. Arriving on the surgical floor, you flash a smile at Arizona Robbins (you've been too busy to spend much time with Callie's girlfriend but she seems nice) and she waves back before continuing to address a five-year-old boy's parents. That could be you, in a few years, harassing Hadley's doctor. Maybe.

A baby isn't the best coping method, but Hadley is the delicate strings holding your life together as it pounds in your head: _adultery-indifference-divorce-abortion-Bizzy-lesbian-running-Captain-infidelity-lonely-Susan-betrayal-fear-Noah-lies-Morgan-jealousy-Kevin-infertility-tears-Pete-disappointment-Derek-husband-Seattle-leaving-Mark-confusion-breaking-Mark …_

"Addison?"

"Dr. Bailey," you sigh in relief, moving toward her to hand her Hadley's pastel blue car seat as he becomes fussy, flailing tiny fists and squirming.

"Hi. Uh, Addison, it's lovely to see you, but I really can't chat now. Shepherd's in room 504 waiting for you, and your resident," Bailey glances around her but only sees Lexie of all people, "Grey, go with Dr. Montgomery."

Lexie's face is neither friendly nor hostile, but you can sense the underlying tension in her brown eyes, in the set of her thin lips. She doesn't acknowledge you but Bailey doesn't have the time to deal with her childishness, and frankly, neither do you, so you set off down the hallway with Hadley, sure that she'll follow.

You can almost hear the unasked questions floating around in her head, lingering on her unopen lips, and you decide to put her out of her misery (Plus, you're getting tired of all the glaring). "Is there something you wanted to say to me, Dr. Grey?"

"Yes. I-I mean no. Actually, yes. I just … I don't understand. I – why did he choose you? We were good together. We were and then you came here and ruined it."

"Let's get something clear, Dr. Grey. You went to Mark's apartment a few months ago, took all your clothes off, and basically begged him to fuck you."

"I didn't –"

"Oh yeah, what was it … 'teach me.' Like that's a lot better," you smirk wickedly. You weren't nicknamed Satan for nothing. "You left him when his daughter showed up, messed around with a few other residents to make him mad, and now, _now _that his daughter is dead and there's a baby in the picture, you want him back?"

"You hurt him too," she retorts childishly, eyes narrowed, but you're not fooled, Lexie cannot know of more than a few fractured shards what was formed and broken between you and Mark.

"We hurt each other," you tell her, your voice suddenly softer, more soothing, as Hadley lets out a little cry into the smooth crescent of skin behind your ear. "But I didn't leave him because I found out he had a teenager daughter and a grandson. Me and Mark have always been kind of inevitable, we just both needed … time."

"It won't last. Mark had a reputation before me and -"

"Dr. Grey, I will overlook that you are being extremely unprofessional one last time," you say, unaware that your voice has escalated and a few nurses are listening in under the guises of notes or phone calls or coffee. "I've known Mark Sloan since you were in elementary school, so I'd assume I know a little more about his past than you do. We both made a lot of mistakes in the past, but we're happy. If you care about him, you'll let this go."

You leave her standing there as you enter the patient's room a few strides away, and glancing over you shoulder you notice Mark standing at a nearby nurses station. His smile, so wide it looks about to crack open his face, nearly makes your heart stop and you stumble the rest of the way in for your consult.

"Addison," Derek catches you, placing a hand on either shoulder, and then smirks when he's sees that you're nothing more than a little embarrassed. "That was quite interesting."

"Shut up," you quip, exchanging Hadley for the patient's background information as you brush past him.

He shrugs. "If you're happy …"

"I am," you whisper before returning to your job.

***

_Your mother taught you to cry quietly, so as glittering mist resplendent of pixie dust swirled around your head you stuffed a moisture-beaded fist inside your mouth and tried to sob soundlessly as your teeth made deep red ridges in your skin. Somewhere, you were sure, Mark was waiting impatiently to use the bathroom, but you couldn't move._

_This was just one of those days._

_Finding out that your mother was a lesbian was shocking enough, and although you had nothing against it in theory, it made you realize that she'd never, ever let you know her, never regarded you as trustworthy enough, even as an adult, to share any bit of personal information with you. But in your familial catastrophe, nothing was that simple._

_You'd hated your father for years, blamed countless things on him, while your mother was guilty of the same crimes. He very rarely made time for you, always demanded an impossible level of perfection, and never made you feel special, but that paled in comparison to his affairs. Even Susan, who you'd thought of as the rock of your family, the one unmovable piece, she, too, had betrayed you with every condolence, every kiss on the top of the head, every game of Monopoly, because it was only to keep you appeased and oblivious._

_It wasn't shocking that you didn't hear the door open, although the shower opening was a little hard for you to miss as frost-kissed air swirled around you and you looked up through trails of black mascara to find Mark standing there in a t-shirt and boxers, annoyance fading to confusion as he took in the sight of you on the floor._

_With a graceful flash of tanned muscle he was sitting beside you, pulling your head to his chest as his shirt was dotted a dark, ashy grey by the pounding shower. His touch had always brought about blissful oblivion that always turned out to be better than whatever pain you were enduring._

"_Tell me, Addison," he commanded once he was soaked through and your sobs had subsided somewhat. So you did, you told him how your entire childhood had been a lie, how you'd turned out like your parents even though you'd never despised two people together as much as you did them. How no matter that they claimed to love you, the three of them made decisions based on the things they wanted, not what was best for the little redheaded girl who ran around the house, teddy bear in hand, always searching for someone to play with. _

_Then he told you how he didn't know what to say to Sloane at first, how Lexie had chopped off her fingertip when he told her about his daughter, how he felt like a terrible father. He related feelings of terror regarding his soon-to-be grandchild, of Sloane dying. He told you he broke up with Lexie because she wasn't what he wanted. He told you he still loved you, ever after all that time._

_So you kissed him, letting tongues mingle under condensing steam, and he kissed you back, igniting that feeling in your chest, the one that made you believe you could fly even without leaving the ground. His heart beat frantically under one of your palms as you maneuvered the soaked garment over his head and he crushed your completely naked body to his._

_He made love to you against the translucent glass of the shower, your legs around his waist, his mouth at your collarbone, your hands in his short golden strands, him inside of you like no man had been for far too long. He made you see stars._

***

A couple weeks pass in domestic bliss; something that seems odd juxtaposed with the names Addison and Mark.

You're too tired to make anything except for the Ravioli-O's you find in his pantry, and you stir them, arm moving independently of your control in the saffron-colored concoction as you watch Mark settle Hadley on his lap as he turns on a baseball game. You duck your head as he begins to whisper into the little boy's hair, his soft, perfectly formed lips moving in tandem with the rearrangement of honey-butter wisps.

"See that, buddy? That's A-rod. They pay the guy like $25 million a year and he plays like that," Mark complains in frustration as the famous player does something wrong (you're not exactly sure what, you can only pretend to understand baseball.) "And that's Derek Jeter. He's your Mommy's favorite."

You don't realize for five entire moments that he referred to you as Hadley's mother and when it does register, you barely conceal your grin. Mommy – it sounds more tantalizingly wonderful than you'd like to admit. Your musings, however, are interrupted by insistent knocking on the door of Mark's apartment, and you think humorously that the person is nearly as impatient as Bizzy.

You amusement dissolves, however, when the door swings open to reveal the very woman you were thinking of, along with your father, a sheepish-looking Callie, and a confused Arizona. Susan is mercifully absent.

"Addison," Bizzy states, as if she hadn't just walked determinedly into your apartment, wrinkling her nose as she scrutinized it. "What are you doing in Seattle again? I had just gotten used to you being in LA and -"

"Save it," you say, and her mouth drops open at the perceived rudeness. "I made it very clear last time you visited that I neither need nor require any opinions from you about my life."

"You mother and I just wanted to check on you," the Captain says in an attempt to placate you, "you've been through a lot lately and …"

"What is that?" Bizzy cuts in with a melodramatic shriek as you turn resignedly to lead them further into the apartment and the golden light from the matching lamps you selected refracts off your rounded melon of a stomach.

Mark chooses that moment to make an appearance with the Yankee-clad Hadley held on his shoulder with one hand and a bottle with a cartoon giraffe in the other. "What the hell are you doing?" your mother continues and though she doesn't explicitly say _with him _it is ostentatiously implied. "Pregnant and living with a man you're not married to, with a child from who knows where …"

"At least I haven't been having a lesbian affair with my assistant for about thirty years," you reply softly, but with a deadly edge in your voice.

"Don't you dare -" Bizzy begins, but you don't allow her to finish.

"Don't say I don't know what it's like. Don't say I won't understand until I'm a mother, because I _am _one now, and I still don't understand why you felt the need to spend all your time with socialite friends while you left Archer and me with a nanny and a cook without a second thought. Don't tell me what my life should be like, _Bizzy_, because I sure as hell am not going to turn out like you."

You stand there, finally having said words that have burned the back of your throat for years, and you finally feel free, released from the expectations you were born into and henceforth free to live this unorthodox life with the man who wasn't the good guy but the one you truly loved.

"I think you should leave," Mark informs them in his deep baritone, and they obey, Bizzy marching proudly out without a second glance, the Captain following at a slower pace, looking slightly regretful, but apparently not enough to stand up to his wife.

It takes you little time after the door shuts to melt into a puddle of tears, courtesy, you're sure, of your raging hormones, and he's there, just like he's always been, and his hands are ecstasy on your back as you cry. "What are we doing?" you rasp through a curtain of tears.

"Just because we can't define it doesn't make it wrong," he replies softly.

***

_You were holding the baby, a real, living piece of the broken man beside you as you watched the coffin be slowly lowered into the welcoming earth. You were watching, but you weren't really seeing, instead you were going back over every cut, every suture, every manipulation of a surgical tool, every shock to the dead girl's chest._

_Mark had been hovering behind you, immersing you in the scent of the cologne that had an unfortunate habit of making your knees weak. Everything went fine, even as you pulled the baby from the deadly clutches of the mass that had been threatening to overwhelm it. He was small, but his cries were shrill and wringing, the product of healthy lungs._

_You handed him to Alex to be cleaned up and carted off to the NICU while you started in on the second, more dangerous part of the surgery. You felt your mouth go dry when you saw that the mass had nearly overtaken Sloane's uterus, separating the two would be nearly impossible. You were reluctant to take away the teenager's chance of ever having another child even though a hysterectomy could have been her only salvation._

_Soon it didn't matter, however, because even an attempted removal of the mass to make the hysterectomy easier had caused an alarming amount of scarlet to pool in Sloane's insides. As the machines started up their cries, you worked quickly to Mark's yells and cursing, but in the end, there was little you could do. The girl's body was ravaged by a pregnancy gone rotten from the start, and she was gone._

_You wore charcoal grey to the funeral, with black pumps and pearls, to offset Mark's black angel of death appearance. There were few babies clothes made in such somber hues, but you managed to find a dark grey onesie, the snaps of which peeked over the swaddling of the baby's blue blanket._

_Occasionally you intercepted a glare from Lexie, but mostly you focused on holding Mark's hand, keeping him strong as the pastor said the customary words, as Samantha Riley made her way over, tears in her eyes, barely giving her grandson a passing glance as she mourned her daughter._

_He saved you, though, and you were determined to save him. The pregnancy hovered at the back of your mind, a forbidden secret of new life in an atmosphere of death._

***

As you unlock the door to your apartment, thinking of the hell that awaits you having two infants in the same small space, you let worldly cares fall from your shoulders, your only concern now is your family. Pausing only to grab some Chunky Monkey from the freezer, you head towards the room the sounds of your boyfriend and son are emanating from, arriving just in time to hear Mark's cry of joy.

He flushes a little when he notices you standing there, but you give him an encouraging smile and settle in the protective cradle of his lap as Hadley rewards you with a mysterious grin.

"Ouch," Mark complains under his breath when you shift your weight and you elbow his rock hard stomach, still a little sensitive about your burgeoning stomach.

"Something you'd like to say?" you ask, warning clear in his voice.

"Shh," he says, putting a finger to your lips and directing your attention toward Hadley. The little boy rolls carefully onto his stomach, gigging when the floor absorbs the force of his roll and then slowly props himself up on knees and hands, the fabric of his sunflower-colored lion onesie stretching as he does. And then, very slowly, he puts one endearingly chubby arm in front of the other, moving towards you with sporadic motions.

He's not officially yours yet, but you get a little teary, even though neither you nor Mark created him, and your hand finds his sibling who seems to think kicking you around the region of your bellybutton will somehow allow her to join the fun.

"What do you want to name her?" Mark asks as Hadley places splayed palms against your hill of a stomach, causing his sister (or aunt, really, but you are _so_ not going there) to release another flurry of kicks inside of you.

"Nevaeh," you say, because you got your heaven, it's just a little backwards.

*********

**Happy New Year, everybody! A review would be a great start to a new year full of stories. Oh, and I forgot to mention that yes, I did change my pen name in case you didn't figure out who I was (I bet at least a few people did).**

Also, please subscribe to our community Maddyson! It would kinda make my life.


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